The Identity Mine (Warner & Lopez Book 3) Page 15

  ‘Fine,’ he said to Ethan. ‘We’ll drop you in on them.’

  Ethan nodded as he felt the Seahawk suddenly plunge into a rapid descent. Ethan’s stomach lurched into his chest as he saw the commander listen intently to something the pilot was saying.

  ‘We’ve got two trucks,’ he reported. ‘One headed north, the other west, and we only have time…’

  ‘To get one of them,’ Ethan finished the sentence. He slammed a fist on his knee and cleared his mind. Abrahem would want to escape, so he would likely be heading west toward Qeycad. Sending Lopez north would provide the diversion and time he needed to make good his escape, so in theory Ethan should pursue the northern vehicle.

  But if Abrahem was as cunning as Ethan suspected he may be, he might try to make off with both his escape and a prize: Lopez. All or nothing, the course of a man without compromise.

  Ethan looked up at the commander and hoped against hope that he was right.

  ‘We go west.’

  ***

  XXIII

  ‘We’ve got them on radar.’

  Ethan leaned to one side and craned his neck to peer around the corner of the Seahawk‘s cockpit door and saw that they were descending through the wispy clouds hovering above the endless deserts that were now tiger–striped with long shadows as the sun rose behind them, illuminating Somalia in a rich golden glow.

  A small screen in the center of the console portrayed the desert before them in shades of green and black, and in the center was a white spot following a faint trail through the deserts.

  ‘They’re running hard,’ Ethan said. ‘We can’t shoot them without risking hitting Lopez if she’s in there, and Abrahem might shoot her anyway if he thinks he’s cornered.’

  ‘No time to debate,’ the SEAL commander snapped. ‘Qeycad’s only a few miles away and I’m not risking us being identified or attacked.’

  Ethan watched the truck for a moment longer and then he made his decision.

  ‘Put us overhead.’

  The SEAL commander stared at Ethan for a moment. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Ethan smiled faintly. ‘I don’t know. I’m sort of making this up as I go.’

  The SEAL shrugged and relayed Ethan’s request forward to the pilots. The Seahawk surged forward as they accelerated, and the SEAL commander opened the helicopter’s side door once more and allowed Ethan a glimpse of the wildly careering truck a few hundred feet below them as they thundered overhead.

  ‘Let’s make use of this human baggage,’ the SEAL commander suggested to his men as he gestured to the captives. ‘Maybe we can use them to slow that jeep down a little.’

  Ethan heard the two Somalians pinned to the helicopter’s deck squeal in terror, fearing that they were about to be jettisoned over the side as the SEALs hauled them to their feet. He got out of his seat and grabbed the SEAL commander’s arm.

  ‘Let them be, just get me onto that truck.’

  The commander narrowed his eyes and glanced at the prisoners. ‘They’ll only go back to looting and raping. Why spare them?’

  ‘Because we’re not them,’ Ethan replied. ‘Right?’

  ‘They can identify us,’ the SEAL snapped. ‘This is as far as the helo’ goes, and it’s your last chance to slow that truck down! It’s not negotiable, unless you’re giving these pirates the same human rights as their victims?’

  Ethan stared at the SEAL but he had no viable response as the soldier turned and had his men force the two captives to their feet, both men weeping openly and begging for mercy. Even before Ethan could protest further, he was shoved to one side and the two captives were propelled from the helicopter to plunge down into the path of the truck.

  Ethan saw their bodies spiral down, limbs pounding the air in a terminal attempt to prevent their impact with the ground, and then they hit the earth in the truck’s path in puffs of golden dust as the Seahawk sank lower and the truck slowed as it tried to manoeuvre past the gruesome obstacles.

  ‘Isn’t it time for you to leave?’ the SEAL commander suggested.

  The Seahawk lowered over the desert sands rushing by below them, the fuselage bucking and gyrating in the wind currents as vast plumes of dust and sand billowed outward under the turbulent down wash from the rotors. Ethan stepped out to the edge of the open doorway, saw the truck swerve desperately to one side in an attempt to avoid the helicopter. Ethan looked right and saw the track weave to the right between dense clumps of hardy thorn bushes cluttering the landscape, and he realized that the truck would have to pass beneath them.

  The hot desert wind tugged at his hair and shirt as he leaned out, the truck less than ten feet below him as the helicopter pilot skilfully guided them down, and then Ethan took a breath and jumped.

  His stomach lifted into his throat as he plunged down and slammed into the back of the truck with a resounding thump just as the vehicle lurched to the right. Ethan slammed into the side of the metal doors in the rear of the truck, his legs flailing as he threw his hands over his head to protect it.

  The Seahawk helicopter surged upward and away, turning east as Ethan scrambled for purchase in the truck and dragged himself forward. A grubby window looked into the cab, where he could see both the driver and a passenger inside. The driver, and old man with yellowing teeth, was looking back at him, a gun held in one hand as he tried to aim backwards over his shoulder while driving the truck.

  Ethan threw himself aside as a gunshot cracked out. The dirty window shattered in a cascade of broken glass that showered across Ethan as the shot went by him. He rolled to one side of the vehicle, directly behind the driver’s seat where he could not be attacked, and crawled forward as he drew his own pistol and prepared to put it against the driver’s head.

  The truck suddenly threw him forward as the driver hit the brakes and Ethan tumbled into the back of the cab and slammed against the unyielding metal in a tangle of limbs as the truck lurched forward again, the engine growling as it accelerated.

  Ethan rolled down the back of the truck and barely grabbed hold of the side before he was thrown out of the back and onto the dusty track behind them, his legs dragging on the rough earth as he hung on grimly to the tail gate. Fury seared Ethan’s guts as he dragged himself back onto the truck and realized that he had no choice. Another wild gunshot through the shattered rear window clanged off the bodywork to his right in a cloud of sparks that were snatched away by the hot wind, and he slammed himself down into a prone position in the rear of the truck and took aim at the metal panel behind the driver. The rough surface of the track jostled him and spoiled his aim, but with a large target so close before him he could hardly miss.

  Ethan fired three shots, each of the bullets easily piercing the thin metal of the truck’s cab and slamming into the driver’s body. Ethan saw the driver’s head quiver as the bullets impaled him and the sound of the truck’s engine began to decrease as the driver’s body slackened in the wake of the gunshots.

  Ethan scrambled forward to the window and reached in through the shattered window as the truck swerved to the right toward dense thickets of thorn scrub. He pushed the wheel to the left and the truck straightened up as he realized that Lopez was strapped into the passenger seat, her head lolling this way and that and her chin on her chest.

  Panic ripped at Ethan’s heart as the truck rumbled to a halt on the desolate trail and the engine coughed into silence as it stalled. Ethan vaulted over the side of the truck and opened the driver’s door to see the old man slumped in his seat, his eyes open and his chest heaving, blood pouring from wounds in his belly and chest.

  Ethan could hear the air rattling into and out of his ruined lungs, but the man did not move an inch. The bullets must have torn through his spinal cord, and now blood bubbled in pink spheres on his lips as Ethan reached in to jerk his chin up with one hand and glare into the old man’s eyes.

  ‘Where is Abrahem?!’ he demanded.

  The old man looked at Ethan for a moment, his eyes briefly focusing in
on him and then he smiled, his yellowing teeth stained with blood.

  ‘Alluhah Akbhar,‘ he whispered.

  Ethan scowled and jumped down from the cab as he hurried around to Lopez’s side and opened her door. He reached up to her neck and pressed his forefingers to her throat, then almost shouted in glee as he felt a pulse throbbing strongly beneath his touch.

  A damp rattle issued from the old man’s lungs, and Ethan looked across to see his head sag, his beard pressing upon his chest as his eyes closed.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Ethan uttered, his voice sounding loud in the otherwise silent desert dawn.

  The truck’s engine was clicking as the hot metal cooled and contracted, and Ethan could see no sign of any water bottles or other survival equipment inside. All he could hope now was that none of his shots had perforated the engine or radiator and that he could get back to the shore before the Seahawk was forced to abandon them in this war–torn and desolate nation.

  Ethan reached across and unclipped the old man’s seat belt, then let his body fall from the seat to land in the dust at his feet. Ethan climbed aboard and shut his door just as Lopez lifted her head and stared at him blankly.

  ‘Where are we?’

  Ethan switched on the engine and began turning the truck on the track.

  ‘Somewhere we don’t want to stay,’ he replied. ‘Are you okay?’

  Lopez nodded slowly, staring ahead as Ethan turned toward the coast. ‘They hit me over the damned head. Where’s Abrahem?’

  ‘We lost him. We’ve got to get back to the coast or we’ll become permanent residents here.’

  Lopez turned and looked through the shattered window of the truck.

  ‘Then get back to the coast faster,’ she said.

  Ethan looked back and saw several vehicles hurtling toward them down the trail, clouds of dust billowing behind them. He cursed silently and slammed the accelerator down as far as it would go and squinted in the brilliant sunlight streaming across the horizon as the sun began to rise. The Somalians must have heard the Seahawk even from miles away, and headed east immediately.

  A deafening crack split the air between them and the windscreen of the jeep blossomed with fractures and exploded inwards, showering them with sparkling shards of glass.

  ‘They’re good shots!’ Lopez shouted above the howling wind and she turned, pulled Ethan’s pistol from its holster and tried to take aim through the shattered rear window.

  Ethan glanced in his side mirror at the nearest vehicle, a hundred yards behind them and closing fast. The second was right behind it and obscured in the dust trail of the first.

  ‘We’ve got about three miles to go!’ he shouted.

  Lopez fired a shot and Ethan saw the first sickly flicker of panic in her expression. Somalia was a no–man’s–land of warlords, militants and deprived villages. If they were captured here they would vanish and never be seen again, the brutality of their captors well known.

  The leading truck was within fifty yards now, two men in the front and several in the rear bearing rifles that were being fired at random, the puffs of smoke from their barrels visible in Ethan’s mirror. Ethan heard shots zip past a few feet from his window and he ducked reflexively.

  ‘Jesus!’

  Ethan jerked the wheel from side to side and looked back to see thick dust clouds billowing outwards behind them, and almost immediately he lost sight of the leading vehicle some thirty yards behind as the dust concealed them from the gunfire. Another desperate shot rang out, rocketing by with a supersonic crack somewhere above their heads.

  ‘It’s not working!’ Lopez shouted. ‘We’re not going to make it!’

  Ethan looked about the jeep desperately and then he saw the truck behind them loom forth from their dust trail, heard the sound of its engine above that of the truck he was driving, saw the faces of the militants crowding the rear, their eyes wide and shining with mindless hate, pink mouths agape, ugly rifles and machine guns pointing at them.

  ‘Hang on!’ he yelled.

  Lopez rammed her boots up against the dashboard as Ethan slammed his foot down onto the brakes.

  The truck’s wheels locked up on the dusty trail and it shuddered as it skipped and bounced across the rough ground. The truck behind it rushed up as Ethan dropped his head slightly and relaxed his grip on the wheel to prevent his arms from being broken as he took his foot off the brake pedal at the last instant.

  The pursuing truck’s engine noise rose to a deafening crescendo and then it smashed into the back of their vehicle even as he heard the wheels lock up and screams of alarm compete with the roaring engine. Ethan was slammed backwards in his seat as the truck was catapulted forward, and he heard screams as three bodies were hurled over the cab of the pursuing vehicle and slammed into the rear of his own.

  Ethan slammed the throttle back down and the truck accelerated away as he heard the second pursuing vehicle slam into the first behind them with a crash of rending metal and the screams of injured militants as they toppled from the back of Ethan’s truck. He turned and saw the first vehicle’s exhaust puff a thick cloud of black smoke as it pulled away from the wreckage, the driver screaming something unintelligible as he accelerated away again. Ethan saw the injured bodies of the militants hurled onto the track quiver as the truck’s tires crunched over them.

  ‘Balls.’

  Ethan turned to concentrate on the view ahead as Lopez took aim and fired two shots, both of them impacting the truck behind but none of them injuring any of the militants still aboard.

  Ethan pushed the accelerator to the floor, but the truck wallowed and creaked as it weaved lazily across the trail.

  ‘Go faster!’ Lopez yelled.

  ‘I can’t, the impact must have fractured the back end!’

  Ethan looked in his mirror and saw the truck pursuing them once more, this time with suicidal rage as the militants chanted and jeered, the driver’s face smeared with blood from the recent impact.

  Ethan saw the bluff ahead and the low buildings of El Hur and he realized instantly that the race was over: they’d run out of road. He was about to consider swerving off–road or even stopping and trying to shoot all of the militants behind them before they could be overpowered when a terrific crescendo of rotor blades hammered the air before him and vortexes of dense dust swirled in golden tornadoes into the blue sky.

  From behind the bluff the SH–60 Seahawk rose up, its wicked looking side–mounted cannon pointed straight at Ethan.

  ‘Get down!’ Ethan shouted.

  A crackling blast ripped the sky before them as the helicopter’s guns opened up, hails of tracer fire rocketing over the truck and slamming into the vehicle behind them. Ethan glimpsed in his rear view mirror the truck vanish in a shower of bright sparks and a cloud of black smoke as it veered sharply left, hit the bank alongside the trail and lifted off, rolling in mid–air to slam down into the desert as militants’ bodies flew from the wreckage, their bodies riddled with 20mm shells. Ethan saw the vehicle crash onto its back amid a cloud of twisted metal and spinning tyres.

  Ethan’s truck slowed as it reached the bluff, blundered up through the thick sand and came to a halt. He clambered out, Lopez joining him as they dashed down toward the beach to where the Seahawk was landing. Its side door opened and the SEAL commander reached out with one gloved hand and helped them aboard.

  ‘Thought you weren’t coming back?’ Ethan challenged.

  ‘We weren’t!’ the commander yelled as the helicopter lifted off. ‘We spotted your vehicle fleeing the Somalians as we took off. Abrahem got away into the bush, probably on foot! He must’ve been among the villagers who attacked you.’

  Ethan cursed as he strapped himself into his seat and shouted above the noise of the beating rotors.

  ‘Contact the fleet, tell them that he’s heading for America!’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure?!’

  ‘That a chance you want to take?’ Ethan challenged.

  The commander grit
ted his teeth and relayed the command to the pilots.

  ***

  XXIV

  USS Harry S. Truman,

  Persian Gulf

  The SH–60 Seahawk touched down on the deck of the enormous aircraft carrier, and despite the ear protection he was wearing Ethan could hear the tremendous noise soaring across the decks as they climbed down from the helicopter’s interior. A buffeting gale whistled across the carrier’s flat deck as it sailed at twenty knots into the prevailing wind, the ocean churning by far below her massive hull.

  Crewmen in colored shirts corralled them against the Seahawk, which had folded its tail back upon itself and turned its rotors into a single stack that lay back across the length of its fuselage to minimize the amount of space it required upon the ship. Steam from the launch catapults billowed across the deck from the bows as Ethan saw a Grumman EA–6B Prowler aircraft thunder down the catapults and roar off the deck into the turbulent dawn sky.

  A terrific shriek made him flinch and he whirled in time to see an F–18E Super Hornet land just thirty feet away from where he stood, its arrestor hook catching the number three wire as fifteen tons of fighter jet was dragged from a hundred fifty knots to a halt in less than two seconds.

  A crewman appeared before him and he waved for Ethan and Lopez to follow as they circled around the front of the helicopter. The sound of countless engines whining seared the deck, the smell of aviation fuel tainting the air as Ethan saw the carrier’s enormous control tower looming before him.

  The crewman led them down a series of steps along the edge of the carrier’s hull, the ocean sweeping past in turbulent white eddies sixty feet below, and then they walked inside the ship and the crewman removed their ear protection.

  ‘You don’t have much time so we gotta move quickly,’ he informed them. ‘Follow me and do everything I say.’